


I'll find you

by Fogfire



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007), Man Up (2015), Mission: Impossible (Movies), Real life - Fandom, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 13:11:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fogfire/pseuds/Fogfire
Summary: A mix up of five different fandoms. Enjoy





	1. Chapter 1

Some relationships are meant to be. Some couples will find each other, no matter the time, the place, the universe.

You press yourself against the wall of the train station building, trying to shield yourself from the rain. It’s pouring down and the three steps from the train to the wall of the building have left you almost completely drenched. You don’t have an umbrella with you, just a small trolley bag and a box that contains the only flower you take with you everywhere you go. A Peace Lily, the first flower you’ve ever taken into your care.

Now you’re left alone, wondering how you can get to the small Motel in this even smaller town.

You bite your lip and look up to the sky, where the raining hasn’t ceased at all, before you notice movement on the other side of the street.

A guy jogs past and you decide to try your luck and dash across the street towards the guy.

“Excuse me?!” You yell, “Excuse me?!”

He stops and stares at you from beneath the hood of his black raincoat. Reddishblonde wispy hair, bright blueish brown eyes.

You swallow hard. Oh no, he’s handsome.

“Yes?”

“I- Well,” you’re well aware that you’re soaked to the bone now, your hair sticking to your face, “I’m new here in Sandford and I don’t know where to find the Motel?”

“Oh?” His face lights up in understanding, “No worries, I will show you. Police Constable Nicholas Angel, to your service.” He holds his hand out for you and you have to move the box with the Peace Lily onto your left arm to shake his hand. “Y/N. I’m glad you walked by. I’m lost.”

He’s walking slower for you, you notice, even though you try to walk faster to get out of the rain. It’s hard to talk with the rain drenching your hair and face, thick drops sticking to your lip and dropping from your nose, but you don’t want to ruin your first impression even further by not saying a word the whole walk.

“And you’re living here?”

“Yes,” Nicholas nods, “Live and work. It’s a small town but we’ve got everything under control here, now. Everyone knows how to behave. You have relatives here?”

“No,” you shake your head and water drops out of your hair. You feel like a wet dog.

“I read an announcement in the newspapers that they’re looking for someone to take over the flower shop. An own shop has been my dream for a long time. I just hope they will accept me and my love for Peace Lily’s here.”

He mutters something that sounds like “I will make sure they will” but the sentence wouldn’t make sense and you write it off as the sound the rain makes when it hits the pavement.

“Well, here it is,” Nicholas guides you through a heavy door into the dry safety of the Motel, “I… Well, I believe you want to warm yourself up first, but… would you like to take a drink with me later? There’s a small pub nearby.”

“Oh…” You can feel your cheeks growing hot despite the coldness that has seeped into your bones. How he can ask you out after having you seen drenched like a wet dog is beneath you, but you won’t question him, afraid he will take the offer back. “I would love too. Do… do they have juice too? I mean, I do want to try a pint someday, well, if everything with the shop goes well, but it was a long drive here and I… well, I’m babbling.”

He smiles at you - don’t swoon, don’t swoon - before nodding. “No worries. I mostly stick to the Cranberry juice myself.”

“Cranberry juice?” You squeak in pleasant surprise, “That’s my favorite.”

His smile broadens even more and he nods to himself again. “Well, yes, then… tonight? A glass of juice and I introduce you to the people you need to know?”

“Oh…” You cringe at how disappointed you sound. He didn’t ask you out on a date. He just wants to be the nice neighbour.

“I would love to take you out after that,” he says than, before you can find the words yourselves and you stare at him in surprise, “But I’m afraid my partner Danny will want to meet you before that. He likes to be a bit nosy.”

He smiles while saying that, as if he doesn’t mind his partner being nosy at all and you can’t help to smile yourself.

“Do I have to be nervous then? Do I have to prepare notes?”

“If you want to?”

\- three hours later -

“Have you ever watched Dirty Harry?”

“Danny,” Nicholas scolds his Partner who looks almost sheepish and stretches out his hand for you to take. “I’m Danny. Danny Butterman. Have you ever watched Dirty Harry?”

“Y/N. Which one do you mean?”

“What?” Danny asks and you pull a face.

“Well, there are five Dirty Harry movies. Which one do you mean? And don’t ask me about the fifth one yet, I haven’t managed to watch it yet and I don’t want to be spoilered.”

“The fifth is great!” Danny exclaims, “You need to watch it, there’s a betting pool and-”

“No spoilers!” You interrupt him, waving your hands in exaggeration, “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know before I can watch it!”

Danny looks at Nicholas and nods as if he’s trying - and failing - to tell his partner something in secret.

You feel like you’ve just passed an exam.

\- six months later -

“I really like the windows,” you mention when you walk back into the room that will soon be a kitchen, “Most of them are directed towards the north. We can put a Peace Lily collection on the window sills.”

“What do you think?” You ask when Nicholas hasn’t stopped staring at the small table in the kitchen.

“Don’t you think it’s too small?”

“The apartment or the table?”

“Both,” he mumbles, still rubbing his chin, deep in thought. “I mean, it’s small and cozy, as you wanted, but Danny might come over quite often if we have our own place instead of the Motel.”

“And? There’s enough place for three at the table.”

“And if we have children?” Nicholas asks and you feel your cheeks burn. You have to clear your throat before answering.

“Well,” you croak out, overwhelmed by how fast this is going, how sure you both feel with this, “I think we can fit a little on on the other side of the table. Or have you thought of more than one child?”

“I just feel like it could be, you know.” He finally takes his eyes from the table, looking at you for reassurance. You smile back at him.

“We will cross that bridge when we get there.”

\- three years later -

The sound of a baby crying, someone moving next to you, a heavy sigh and feet moving across the creaking floor of your bedroom.

“Nicholas?”

“It’s allright,” he mumbles sleepily, “I’m up, I’m going.”

“Thank you,” you mumble back and pull his pillow to your chest, pressing your nose into the soft material, falling back asleep instantly.

You dream of the Universe, starships and adventures.

-


	2. Chapter 2

-

Your coffee cup clatters to the floor. You’re quick to pick him up, thankful that it had been empty already anyway.

“Everything okay?” Ensign Peet asks. You only remember her name because she’s the only one who gets up as early as you.

“No!” You put your cup onto a nearby desk and point a shaky finger at the big *terrarium in the middle of your workspace, “You see that? There is fog on the glass. There shouldn’t be fog on the glass. If there is fog on the glass, it’s not set to the temperature I have calculated and set by hand. How could this happen?”

Peet looks at you with big eyes and follows you to the side panel of the terrarium, where you check the data from yesterday evening to right now. Everything’s there. Your control checks, the temperature you set, even the level of humidity it should have. It doesn’t need a genius to understand that there’s nothing wrong with the programming. There is something wrong with the whole Terrarium, an apparatus that had been specifically designed for you, your studies and the delicate plants that inhabit it.

You’re close to fuming, but you force yourself to stay calm. Shouting will only result in a scared ensign and no further progress.

“C-Can I do something?” Ensign Peet asks as if she has heard your thoughts. Maybe she has.

“We need to get someone from Engineering. Someone who knows their shit because I don’t need some half-assed work to fix up this already half-assed work.”

Peet looks like she’s trying not to cringe at your language and grabs her communicator.

“Engineering? T-This is Ensign Peet from Science Lab 1. W-we need some help.”

“Ach, Lass, what’s the matter now?” A well-known Scottish accent is the answer. You haven’t met the man yet, but you’ve had to call him at least once a day until everything in this lab has been set up. There’s a hint of condescending in his voice, you’re convinced of that, and it’s the last thing you want or need right now.

You grab the communicator from Peets’ hands and raise it to your mouth.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Laddie,” you snapped in annoyance, “The Terrarium walls are fogged up with humidity. Humidity that should not be there, because I programmed it correctly. The Albian Peace Lily doesn’t take humidity lightly and it’s our chance to erase a few deadly diseases from human history!”

“Alright, Lass,” he answered dryly, “Understood. Have you rebooted the computer?”

You heave a sigh and press the switch on the computer panel.

“Doing it right now.”

“Call me if that does not bring you the needed results.”

“I will,” you snap and hear him cutting the connection. You grumble a curse, realizing you’ve forgotten to ask how you can get the humidity out of the system with the computer on reboot.

“L-Lieutenant,” Peet asks with her nervous stutter and you sigh again, before turning to her, forcing yourself to be calm again.

“Yes, Ensign Peet?”

“I-I just wanted to tell you that you shouldn’t worry that much.”

You laugh in surprise. “What?”

“Well, it’s… it’s very noticeable. I mean, I’m a Betazoid and I try to keep my telepathic abilities to myself, but… well, the worry is practically radiating off you.”

You bite your tongue, swallowing down the snarky remark that’s trying to slip past.

“I’m sorry, Ensign Peet. I don’t think you need to be empathic to notice that I’m worried.”

“I’m sure we can fix the Terrarium,” she tells you, an adorable conviction audible in her voice, “And if we can’t, Mr. Scott from Engineering can. My cousin says he is a genius.”

“Well, we will need a genius if this doesn’t work, because those are the first Albian Peace Lilies a Science Team has ever been allowed to experiment with. If we fail to keep them alive my career is officially over.”

Ensign Peet swallows dryly and you nod, hoping for the best.

You’re so focused, staring at the monitor of the restarting computer, that you don’t even notice Ensign Peet slipping out of the Lab.

You rub your temples in a desperate attempt to calm you down. The computer has rebooted and shows you the same data as before. The glass is still foggy and your anxiety is getting the better of you. And is that your mind playing you tricks or are the leaves already looking worse than they did yesterday?

The door of the lab opens with an unnerving sound.

“Alright, Lass,” you hear a voice you’re already too accustomed to, “Your Ensign begged me to come help, so here I am. Did you reboot the computer?”

You on your feet again, staring at the guy in the red engineering shirt.

“Mr. Scott,” you address him, forcing the words out of your mouth, “Glad you could come. Rebooting did not help.”

He is cute, you notice despite the anger coursing through you, attractive even. His smile is polite, but his shoulders are squared when he walks past you as if he’s ready to fight back with every ounce of humor and snarky remarks he has in himself.

You shake your head at that weird thought. That doesn’t seem to make sense, not even to himself.

To get away from him, you look at Peet, but her eyes are wide open in surprise and is she… smiling?

Embarrassment burns through your veins. How could you forget that the Ensign can read your thoughts and even if she’s not, she can still feel what you feel. Attraction. Confusion too, but mainly attraction.

“Well, this is shite-”

You whirl around at that sentence, poking your right index into his shoulder.

“Do something!” You demand, “These plants are important! They can save lives and I can’t risk losing them to some stupid mistake some idiot made!”

“What do ye think I’m doing, lass?” He growls back, “How’s the air inside? Can I open an outlet to get something of the humidity out?”

“Yes!” You rush to the other side of the giant glass complex, “There’s one here, that we can open, and a cross valve at the back for nutrients, humidity and other stuff you probably won’t find interesting.”

He snorts at that.

“Le’ me choose myself what I find interesting. I’m already surprised ye know wha’ a cross valve is.”

You roll your eyes at that.

“You guessing right who taught me the term might impress me… maybe.” You snap back and he turns his head to look at you, obviously interested in the challenge.

“Boyfriend? Family member?” You shake your head two times and he snaps his fingers after a thought, “Ye tried out engineering at the academy but it wasn’t for ye?”

“No.” You lean down to him, looking him in the eyes, “I taught myself because I like to know my tools.”

Peet is grinning when you right yourself again and you know you’ve won this fight. At least a little bit.

“What are you doing?” You ask when he’s grabbing a device from his toolbox.

“I’m checking the humidity inside with a portable meter to see if the one in the Terrarium is malfunctioning.”

“You can’t go inside.”

“The things are poisonous?”

“Those things are Albian Peace Lilies. Very rare, very delicate. The bacteria that is inhabiting your human body would be fatal to them. I will put on my suit and step inside if necessary.”

“As much as I’d like to see ya change, that won’t be necessary. I will do it myself.”

You stare at him in shock. It takes him a few seconds to register what he has just said and he swallows dryly, obviously trying to hold up his courage.

“Ye’re a pretty lady,” he tries to shake it off with a joke, “Ye get angry easily, but it suits ya. I mean…”

“The meters,” you interrupt him rudely before he can say something that you might both regret later, “We need to check the meters.”

“Right.”

“And I’m going in. I’m not letting you near my plants… No offense,” you add and he actually cracks a smile at that.

“And?” You ask, your voice muffled by your full body suit. It’s hard to make out Mr. Scott through your facemask, the plants around you and the thick glass walls of the Terrarium, but his voice comes clear and loud through the loudspeakers.

“There was a discrepancy. Get out there Lass and let the system change the humidity.”

“Don’t order me around,” you answer back, fighting the sudden insight that his voice is soft and melodic with a certain warmth to it. He could read the Prime Directive to you and you wouldn’t mind.

When you step out, Ensign Peet sends you a pointed look from the desk she’s working on.

“How are the Petri dishes coming along?” You ask back and she turns her head again, getting back to work.

Fifteen minutes later the humidity has not cleared from the Terrarium and you’re getting antsy again.

“Why isn’t it working?”

“There might be something wrong with the wires,” Mr. Scott mumbles, barely looking up from the PADD he has connected to the Terrariums computer.

“Well, then fix the wires,” you demand and crouch down to open the panel beneath the computer, where the main wires are.

When you right yourself up, Peet is sending you pointed looks again and Mr. Scott looks like he is fighting a blush.

“What? Do I have to do it myself?”

“No,” he yelps and grabs another tool before crouching down himself.

You immediately realize why he had been blushing. This position allows a perfect view for anyone else to ogle his ass. Or yours, seconds before.

And maybe you should be mad that he had looked - but really, looking at his butt was much more satisfying than getting angry about-

“Yes?” You clear your throat when Scotty turns his head to look up at you, “You asked something?”

“There are some replacement relay in my toolbox. Give me one… Please.”

You work in silence from then on, your eyes sometimes straying to look at his ass, when you were sure he wouldn’t notice. That’s not something you’re known for and not something you’re proud of, especially with Peet standing behind you, sensing the approval and attraction you feel, but-

“Yes?” You ask again, shaking yourself out of your thoughts.

“Sorry to tell you that, but I fixed the wires and put in a new relay but it’s still malfunctioning.”

Fear’s creeping up your neck now, cold, bone cracking fear.

“And… And what does that mean? What do we do?”

You notice the “we” a little bit too late and bit your lip.

“No,” you tell him, “I’m not taking it back. We’re a team now.”

“Scotty then,” he tells you, offering you his hand to take, “We will need to call the IT-Team and the designer from Yorktown.”

“Y/N,” you shake his hand, “You get the IT-guys from our ship, I’ll call the designer. We’re close enough to get him beamed here?”

“We’re always close enough to beam, Lass, as long as ye have me on board.”

You smile at that and clap his shoulders.

“Good to know,” you grab your comm, “I’ll call him then.”

“You might need to persuade him,” he says, “Those Yorktown guys can be pretty stubborn.”

“You should know by now that I’m very persuasive when I’m angry.”

Fifteen minutes later a message on your PADD notifies you of an arrival in the transporter room.

“Angry looks good on ye,” Scotty jokes when you get up to bring the designer here, “Especially when the anger isn’t directed at me.”

Another half an hour later the problem is fixed and the data has been copied to a PADD, ready to be put down into a manual, should the malfunction ever occur again. You hope not and bid everyone goodbye.

“Well,” you tell Scotty when he’s the last to leave, “You were a great help. Maybe I will see you around?”

He looks at you, focused and obviously searching for words. You hope he’s trying to ask you out while fearing the exact opposite. He opens his mouth and a thought, sudden, unrelated but urgent nonetheless pops up and you yell it out, before thinking better.

“You need to come to my room!”

Scotty freezes, mouth half open and you realize how it must have sounded like.

“No! No! Not like that! The Terrarium! I have a smaller one in my room! It might have the same fault, I-”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling with it and you take a deep breath while you still can.

“Donnae tell me there are Peace Lilies in it.”

You send him a sheepish smile and beckon him to follow you.

“There are. But Terran ones. They are my favorite plants. They remind me of my home.”

“Well, let’s take a look at them then.”

It takes you only half an hour and not half a day to fix the bug this time.

You breathe out in relief when you’re sure that none of your precious plants will suffer from the too humid air.

“I don’t know how I can thank you for that,” you tell him as earnestly as you can, “You saved my job and the biggest part of home that I have with me.”

“Well, ye did most of the job yerself,” he starts and stops, licking his lips before talking on, “But if ye’d drink a glass of Scotch with me? That would be thanks enough.”

“Just a glass of Scotch?” You ask in surprise, “You’re easy to please. I would have gotten you a whole bottle.”

He laughs at that.

“It’s not so much the Scotch that is the payment,” he clears you in, “It’s the occasion where we drink. Together.”

“Like a date?” You ask, breathless all of a sudden.

“Like a date.” He confirms.

“I’d like that very much.”

-

Five years later the Albian Peace Lilies are still pretty much alive and sometimes when you feel like it, you take your little daughter into the room of glass to show her the giant flowers that brought her parents together.

“Do you have to get up so early?” You complain when your husband slips out of bed at an ungodly hour.

“There’s an ion storm ahead,” he reminds you with a kiss to your forehead, “Head of Engineering needs to be up and about, making sure that everything is working smoothly.”

“Don’t get yourself hurt then,” you answer and pull him down for another kiss, “The little one has invited us to a tea party for tonight.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

An hour later, when the ion storm hits the ship, you’re in the midst of making breakfast. You wouldn’t have noticed the storm, had it not pulled you from this Universe into one entirely different and yet, so similar.

You open your eyes to sunshine, green leaves and a face that looks familiar and foreign at the same time.

“Hey, Benji to Y/N. Are you still on earth or orbiting around Jupiter again?”

“What?”


	3. Chapter 3

You open your eyes to sunshine, green leaves and a face that looks familiar and foreign at the same time.

“Hey, Benji to Y/N. Are you still on earth or orbiting around Jupiter again?”

“What?”

There is a twister working its way through your mind. You feel dizzy, your left knee gives in and your hip connects with a cupboard behind you. You slump against it, fighting the urge to throw up.

You see a little girl with your skin tone and the eyes of the man before you - just that you know he’s not the father, even though he looks exactly like him. But you can’t remember the girl’s name, you can’t remember her birthday or anything other than the fact that she loves chocolate even more than going to work with her daddy.

You feel like you have to be somewhere else, but you don’t know where this somewhere is.

The foreign but oh so familiar looking man jumps over the counter and grabs your arms, softly, but with determination. He has touched you before.

And with the memory of a life fading, the memory of another one hits you. You groan and whimper, cold shivers running down your back. You can’t tell if it’s from the sickness your feeling or the things you’re remembering.

His stubble grazing the skin of your neck when he kisses your shoulder blades.

Long, desperate hugs in dark, dirty and terrible places.

A little apartment at the top of an old building, where you sit in front of an open fire and listen to him telling you stories, reading your books, murmuring promises into your hair.

“Benji?” You croak, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“YES! Yes, that’s me! Are you okay? What’s happening to you?”

“I don’t know,” you groan and he pulls you up and against his chest. It’s nice there, comfy. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and rest your head, listening to his heartbeat while he moves around as if you weigh nothing.

Another memory unravels itself, taking an older one with it. The name of a starship you used to call your name won’t come off your tongue anymore, but you remember that he hasn’t been always as strong like he is now. He has worked himself up, from a desk in a dimly lit facility to a… “Field Agent?” You mumble, confusion inked into your voice.

“What?” You hear him above you.

“You’re a field agent.”

“Yes, I am. And you are too.”

“I am?”

“Well, used to be. Still are, when they need you, but you’re concentrating on other parts of your job now.”

“Like what?”

“Managing a hideout at the back of a gardening shop, creating poisons and antidotes from freakishly looking plants. Stuff like that. Where you’re not constantly out in the open.”

He puts you down on something soft.

A plushy purple wing chair, one you wouldn’t have looked for in a place like this.

It’s exactly the right thing to lean into, soft and comforting, while your head is still a mess.

“And why did I do that?” You ask and there’s a new thing coming to you. Longing. You long for the man in front of you, stretching out your arms, inviting him in.

He looks concerned, but only until you make grabby hands and he chuckles. His eyes crinkle in a way that looks so heartwarming familiar to you and he steps forward and sinks into you, his stubble grazing your cheeks, his body warmth spreading onto you.

He stays silent though. And you demand an answer.

“Benji?”

“Mmhm?”

“Why did I choose to concentrate on other parts of my job?”

“Because we’re trying… To get a… well, a kid, you know?”

The picture of a little girl with your skin tone and his eyes fades from your mind and you clutch onto his arms, feeling another longing getting prominent.

“And what do you want? Boy or girl?”

“Both, if I can choose.”

-

“Feeling better?”

You open your eyes to look at him. The setting sun is pouring golden light through the windows, drenching him in gold. He looks like an ethereal being, not from this world.

“I just thought you were an angel sent from heaven, does that answer your question?”

He chuckles and steps closer, out of the light.

“You got your humor back, that’s a good sign.”

You two fall quiet again. He stretches out his hand and cups your cheek, his thumb tapping the spot between your eyebrows.

“You’re thinking again.”

“Yeah… You didn’t come by just to make mooneyes at me, right?”

“Right. I’ve got to go on a mission. Wanted to say goodbye before I left.”

“Take me with you.”

“No.” He steps back, arms folding over his chest. He’s serious.

You get up as well. You have to be with him right now, there’s a pull in your chest telling you this one simple truth.

“Yes.”

The world is a blurry mess and Benji is the center of it.

So many people, so many colors. Soft silk covering your skin, a gun strapped to your leg protecting your heart. And his.

An explosion. Cold water. Your lungs feel like they’re going to burst. Fresh air that tastes almost too sweet and the blinding lights and hard steel walls of a secret hideout.

A man talking. That’s Ethan.

You blink, once, twice, and draw your thumb across the back of Benji’s hand.

You sit in a car and wait, ears open, waiting for the worst to happen and hoping for the best.

Your wedding band glistens in the light of a street lamp. You slip it off your finger when Benji’s focus moves to something else and look at the words imprinted on the inside.

“You are the blue bits.”

You open your mouth to say something, but you don’t know what.

The words sound familiar, so awfully familiar and you touch them, those tiny, tiny letters, feeling something pull you away from this place and to another.


	4. Chapter 4

You wake up, groggy and out of place, on a chair in a train. There’s dried drool on your cheek and a book on the table before you. Your head hurts and you grab it, assuming it’s yours and get off the train. It’s your stop, after all, at least you feel like it has to.

“I need a coffee.” You groan when you get out of the train, the cold air sobering you up a bit. There’s a fuzzy white cap in your bag and you put it on before going on a hunt for coffee.

The first sip clears your head enough to be able to remember the book you took. You grab it from your bag, taking in the dark blue cover and the colorfully printed title.

“Six billion people and you?” You read out loud, furrow your brow and open the book. A flyer falls out and drops to the floor.

It’s an advertisement for a movie. You pick it up and read it carefully.

“The World’s End?” You look at the characters displayed below the title. One of the guys looks awfully familiar to you. You find yourself touching his face softly and laugh about yourself. What sleeping in a train can do to you.

“Jessica!” Someone shouts behind you and you turn around on instinct, feeling as if you should.

“Well, I’m not that late, am I?” A man asks you, reddish blond hair combed back, a blue scarf slung around his neck.

You know him, your mind supplies, but you don’t know how. You don’t even know his name.

“What are we going to do in terms of saying hello?” He asks. You can sense his nervousness, can feel how uneasy he feels. He tries to hug you and kiss you on the cheek at the same time. You can feel a light stubble grazing your cheek and you remember a name and a face that looks so similar to his.

“Benji?” You want to ask, but the words won’t fall from your lips.

“Hello there…” He whispers into your ear, before moving back.

He looks at you, wide eyes, sparkling, something like hope in his eyes and holds up the same book you seem to own.

“So. Book. Check. And blind date? Check!”

You look at him, realizing that there is something going wrong here, but you can’t name what it is.

The world blurs.

You’re walking down a street, talking.

“It’s from Wall Street… If you need a friend, get a dog. I love that movie.”

“You do?” You look at him, blinking in wonder. You don’t know that movie.

“Yeah… it’s one… it’s one of my favorites.”

“And you are a…?” The words are tumbling from your lips on your own, you don’t even think, you just talk, as if this dialogue has been written out on a script already.

“I’m an online marketing manager… but what I really wanna do is paint.” He says, shortly after and you look at him, taking him in until the world gets blurry again.

Maybe you should be worried about how time shifts so suddenly, making the world blur and clear again.

You’re bowling, laughing, looking at Jack and feeling something familiar and new at the same time. You like this man. You might even be able to love this man.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve been so competitive, you can’t remember the last time you’ve had so much fun. Or do you?

And now you’re running, running faster than you’ve ever been before. There’s anger coursing through your veins, anger at the man you’ve met before

Jack. His name is Jack, you remember. And you’re running to proof him wrong.

You’re dancing with him, talking. You’re close to him, your arms around his shoulders and his hands… “Your hands are sitting on my arse.”

“Oh sorry,” he moves them up, “Old habit.”

There’s the blurriness again, just enough to make it impossible for you to understand what he’s saying.. or what’s coming out of your own mouth too. When it leaves, he pushes away from you and the music changes.

“God, you’re such a cynic!” He shouts.

Your answer is ready on your lips. “And you’re such a romantic!”

And then you’re dancing, steps and moves and waving your hands as if you would do that every day. You’re still talking, but the words fade from your mind, you just see him, you just hear the music, you just feel your heart beating in the rhythm of the music.

And then he’s too close to you. Your knees are weak, you can feel his breath on you. his chest is pressed against your shoulder. He twirls you around and brings you in again, his hands clutching yours, his eyes locking onto yours. You can see the hurt in them, and it’s hard to concentrate on his words, but you do.

“You let me get on with my sad single man life crisis and keep your cynical wisecracks and theories to yourself, okay?”

His voice breaks at the end of the sentence and he pushes you away, turning around and bolting.

You have a choice now. Stay or follow him. And you follow him. But the world gets blurry again.

Your leaning against the door of a toilet. There’s bitterness on your tongue as if you’ve just told all the bad things in your life. All the things that try to keep you down.

He’s chuckling at something you must have said, even though he looks as if he’s just cried.

“You’re just… you’re an emotional jigsaw at the moment but you’re gonna piece yourself back together. You know, start with the corners. Look for the blue bits.”

He looks at you, looks right at you, as if he sees into the deepest corner of your mind as if he can see your very thoughts clinging to the last sentence you just said yourself.

The blue bits. The writing in the ring. Benji…

“Where do I find these… blue bits?” He asks and all you want is to kiss him, to take the sadness from his eyes.

Blurriness. A bitter taste in your mouth.

Jack in front of you in a room full of people, a glass of champagne in your hand.

You watch him talk, you watch him pour his heart into his words.

“You said I was an emotional jigsaw and that I should look for the blue bits. I think you might be the blue bits. So what do you say? Quid pro quo?”

“What does it say in Six Billion People and you?” You ask him and he stops, does a double take and steals your father’s glass, before toasting to you.

“Fuck the past.” And he kisses you.


	5. Chapter 5

You wake up, groggy and out of place, on a chair in a train. There’s dried drool on your cheek and a book on the table before you. Your head hurts and you grab it, assuming it’s yours and get off the train. It’s your stop, after all, at least you feel like it has to.

“I need a coffee.” You groan when you get out of the train, the cold air sobering you up a bit. There’s a fuzzy white cap in your bag and you put it on before going on a hunt for coffee.

The first sip clears your head enough to be able to remember the book you took. You grab it from your bag, taking in the dark blue cover and the colorfully printed title.

“Six billion people and you?” You read out loud, furrow your brow and open the book. A flyer falls out and drops to the floor.

It’s an advertisement for a movie. You pick it up and read it carefully.

“The World’s End?” You look at the characters displayed below the title. One of the guys looks awfully familiar to you. You find yourself touching his face softly and laugh about yourself. What sleeping in a train can do to you.

“Jessica!” Someone shouts behind you and you turn around on instinct, feeling as if you should.

“Well, I’m not that late, am I?” A man asks you, reddish blond hair combed back, a blue scarf slung around his neck.

You know him, your mind supplies, but you don’t know how. You don’t even know his name.

“What are we going to do in terms of saying hello?” He asks. You can sense his nervousness, can feel how uneasy he feels. He tries to hug you and kiss you on the cheek at the same time. You can feel a light stubble grazing your cheek and you remember a name and a face that looks so similar to his.

“Benji?” You want to ask, but the words won’t fall from your lips.

“Hello there…” He whispers into your ear, before moving back.

He looks at you, wide eyes, sparkling, something like hope in his eyes and holds up the same book you seem to own.

“So. Book. Check. And blind date? Check!”

You look at him, realizing that there is something going wrong here, but you can’t name what it is.

The world blurs.

You’re walking down a street, talking.

“It’s from Wall Street… If you need a friend, get a dog. I love that movie.”

“You do?” You look at him, blinking in wonder. You don’t know that movie.

“Yeah… it’s one… it’s one of my favorites.”

“And you are a…?” The words are tumbling from your lips on your own, you don’t even think, you just talk, as if this dialogue has been written out on a script already.

“I’m an online marketing manager… but what I really wanna do is paint.” He says, shortly after and you look at him, taking him in until the world gets blurry again.

Maybe you should be worried about how time shifts so suddenly, making the world blur and clear again.

You’re bowling, laughing, looking at Jack and feeling something familiar and new at the same time. You like this man. You might even be able to love this man.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve been so competitive, you can’t remember the last time you’ve had so much fun. Or do you?

And now you’re running, running faster than you’ve ever been before. There’s anger coursing through your veins, anger at the man you’ve met before

Jack. His name is Jack, you remember. And you’re running to proof him wrong.

You’re dancing with him, talking. You’re close to him, your arms around his shoulders and his hands… “Your hands are sitting on my arse.”

“Oh sorry,” he moves them up, “Old habit.”

There’s the blurriness again, just enough to make it impossible for you to understand what he’s saying.. or what’s coming out of your own mouth too. When it leaves, he pushes away from you and the music changes.

“God, you’re such a cynic!” He shouts.

Your answer is ready on your lips. “And you’re such a romantic!”

And then you’re dancing, steps and moves and waving your hands as if you would do that every day. You’re still talking, but the words fade from your mind, you just see him, you just hear the music, you just feel your heart beating in the rhythm of the music.

And then he’s too close to you. Your knees are weak, you can feel his breath on you. his chest is pressed against your shoulder. He twirls you around and brings you in again, his hands clutching yours, his eyes locking onto yours. You can see the hurt in them, and it’s hard to concentrate on his words, but you do.

“You let me get on with my sad single man life crisis and keep your cynical wisecracks and theories to yourself, okay?”

His voice breaks at the end of the sentence and he pushes you away, turning around and bolting.

You have a choice now. Stay or follow him. And you follow him. But the world gets blurry again.

Your leaning against the door of a toilet. There’s bitterness on your tongue as if you’ve just told all the bad things in your life. All the things that try to keep you down.

He’s chuckling at something you must have said, even though he looks as if he’s just cried.

“You’re just… you’re an emotional jigsaw at the moment but you’re gonna piece yourself back together. You know, start with the corners. Look for the blue bits.”

He looks at you, looks right at you, as if he sees into the deepest corner of your mind as if he can see your very thoughts clinging to the last sentence you just said yourself.

The blue bits. The writing in the ring. Benji…

“Where do I find these… blue bits?” He asks and all you want is to kiss him, to take the sadness from his eyes.

Blurriness. A bitter taste in your mouth.

Jack in front of you in a room full of people, a glass of champagne in your hand.

You watch him talk, you watch him pour his heart into his words.

“You said I was an emotional jigsaw and that I should look for the blue bits. I think you might be the blue bits. So what do you say? Quid pro quo?”

“What does it say in Six Billion People and you?” You ask him and he stops, does a double take and steals your father’s glass, before toasting to you.

“Fuck the past.” And he kisses you.


End file.
